Just For Tonight
by IBidYouAdieu
Summary: Christmas night, and The Doctor is alone again; his hopes for new companionship viciously ripped away with Astrid Peth's precious life. Nothing new. Only this time, he can barely stand his own company. Ten/Martha.
1. Chapter 1

**This short story was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but it got quite long and I enjoyed writing it this way. I started writing it before I started Nightfall, but wasn't sastisfied with it until now so here I am posting it a chapter at a time. It's set right after the events of "The Last of the Time Lords" and "Voyage of the Damned", but it doesn't follow script line for line (all the important bits are there, but I reshaped some small details). I really hope you enjoy the story and your reviews are much, much appreciated!**

* * *

**_ Just For Tonight_**

A _Doctor Who_ Short Story by kendrawriter

**I.**

"Doctor!"

He heard Mr. Copper's voice yet again, breathless with happiness, and he turned back. Across the field, the elderly Stoian stood clutching his chest. Even from so far away, The Doctor could see that his eyes were shining with tears.

"I won't forget her." The wind carried the solemn oath towards the TARDIS, circling the snow upward like a cyclone. "I won't _ever_ forget Astrid Peth! Or you! Thank you, Doctor! And happy Christmas!" He was practically skipping away now, a million pounds richer with a fresh start on the horizon.

"Happy Christmas, Mr. Copper…" The Doctor muttered after him, watching until he disappeared down a street lined with trees twinkling warmly with festive lights.

He stood in the doorway of the TARDIS for a minute longer, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his shoulders stiffly hunched against the blustery cold. Standing there, watching the white particles dance about, The Doctor felt more empty and detached than he had in a very long time. He felt tired. Very, very tired. And old.

For just a few hours, Astrid's hope had given _him_ hope; her excitement and almost child-like wonder at the prospect of traveling with him made him feel…well…it made him _feel_.

Now she was gone. Falling across the stars forever, a cluster of shimmering particles with no thoughts or hopes or dreams. Stardust, as Mr. Copper had said. Just…stardust…

The Doctor ripped his gaze away from the snow, turning sharply to enter the TARDIS. He shut the doors and made his way slowly up the ramp to the console, not really seeing his surroundings. He touched the controls, his fingers sliding aimlessly over the various knobs and dials, before turning to lean against the console. Then for a long time, (perhaps an hour or so, but who was counting?) he stood very still and stared down at the patch of metal flooring between his Chucks.

Since The Master's death, a great, acute silence was growing within The Doctor. It was much like being able to see into the Void. Like staring at the vast nothingness between universes. Empty. Silent. Black. Maddening. It had been that way after the war. Again when Rose was taken from him. And that's what it was like to witness The Master's death…the black, empty silence began to intrude upon The Doctor with painstaking persistence.

And now, because he couldn't save her, Astrid Peth was stardust. Like so many, many others.

The Doctor looked up and around slowly, as if waking from a dream. The TARDIS, his old girl, never looked so empty. A deep, cavernous loneliness seemed to radiate from her coral and gold walls, right through him. Or was it the other way round?

It was Christmas. This time two years ago, he had been with…

"Oh, _sod it!_" he barked, standing upright and running his hands through his hair harshly.

He would be damned if he would spend the rest of Christmas wallowing in dark self-pity and world-weary bitterness. The Doctor, after spending a while being almost catatonic in deep thought, was suddenly animated again as he circled the control console, flipping switches and setting the coordinates for the TARDIS to find his next destination. He checked the signal scope, then rotated the monitor a little to get a better look at it.

"Come on, come on…where is she?"

The geo-location he'd put into place began to narrow down on a target, and then the blinking indicator finally appeared. He found her. She had moved into a new flat (her last one having been blow to bits by a bomb The Master had planted in her telly) not far from the hospital. He grinned, his mind swimming with fresh memories, and set the coordinates and fired her up.

The TARDIS engine began to grind, that noise seeming ten times louder than usual after such a long interlude of quiet.

It was one of the most comforting sounds in the universe. The Doctor patted the glowing engine tube affectionately. "Atta girl, nice and easy. No more weepy Doctor, that's no fun, eh? Let's go pay a good friend a visit, what d'ya say? Can you make it? Of course you can!"

He released the handbrake and the TARDIS took off through the Vortex.


	2. Chapter 2

**II.**

It had only been five months since she last saw him. But those five months seemed to have stretched on forever with the weight of his absence. That last moment between them stood frozen in time in her mind's eye.

The Doctor, standing in the TARDIS, gazing at her with that devastatingly stoic expression etched into his handsome features. His jaw set, eyebrows creased, hands in his pockets, brown eyes guarded.

That was probably the most painful part for Martha. The way he just…accepted what she was telling him. The way he simply let her walk away from him, without so much as a word of protest. He didn't fight for her. Even if he only tried to convince her to stay as a friend, it might not have hurt quite so much. But he didn't fight.

He only said "Thank you." Gave her a hug. And let her go.

At first, the heartache was very powerful, and it almost always drove her to tears. It was barmy. She never allowed herself to cry during the year she walked the Earth. But leaving The Doctor seemed to eradicate all those months of self-restraint. An empty feeling of loss pawed at her insides whenever she thought of that moment, making those first few weeks without him pretty grim.

But Martha was strong. If she had learned one thing traveling the world for twelve months on the run from The Master, it was that she was capable of just about anything she set her mind to.

So, she set her mind. Hid her broken heart away. Dove into "normal" life again. It was a struggle at first – harder than she ever imagined it would be – but she managed to reintegrate herself into the day-to-day. She threw herself back into her studies again and moved into a new flat. She became the rock of the family, setting her own pain aside to help them all get through the residual effects of the year from hell. She mastered the art of keeping up a demeanor that radiated confidence and closure whenever they mentioned The Doctor. They couldn't help themselves, her father and Tish and Leo. They were curious about him, in awe of him, even sympathetic to his lot in life – the last of his kind, and all. Fascinated by his Lone Ranger, time traveling, rogue, antihero persona. And of course they had no idea that she was utterly in love with him.

Or so she told herself.

Her mother, however, seemed to see through Martha's façade. She never spoke to Martha directly about it, but she always watched Martha like a hawk whenever his name came up.

Each day got a little easier. She stopped fingering the numbers on her mobile, fighting the urge to ring him up. She stopped listening for the familiar grinding sound of the TARDIS engine. Boy, that had been hard. She would sometimes imagine she heard it, just for a second. In the coffee shop, in the parking lot at work, outside her window, around corners and down alleys…but of course it was never there. She didn't know what she expected – a big, grand entrance from the Time Lord, love in his eyes, an apology and three little words on his lips?

No, best to live in reality.

And the reality was: The Doctor…that brilliant, heartbreakingly handsome, completely mad, brave, powerful, lonely, charming and sad Time Lord she had fallen in love with…was never coming back for her. That "thank you" was "goodbye". That hug was the last time she would smell him, touch him, feel his warmth…

Sometimes she chided herself. It wasn't like he was _dead_. But somehow…she felt as if he may as well be. He was gone. Almost every trace of him – just gone.

So Martha even stopped wishing for an alien invasion or some planetary crisis to bring him back. Then one day she spotted Doctor Tom Milligan having his tea in the Royal Hope cafeteria, and found herself boldly shoving in, talking a mile a minute, laughing and flirting. One lunch led to a dinner date. Dinner developed into dinner and a movie. Dinner and a movie led to a snog session under the lights of the London Eye.

And for the first time in weeks, the hidden hurt didn't feel like it was seconds away from breaking through the surface. Tom calmed her, made her smile, made her feel…well…made her _feel_.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

When people started fleeing before the holidays, Martha and Tom discussed taking a mini break. "Maybe we could go up to a little B&B in Brighton or something?" he'd said, his adorable dimples appearing when he smiled. "Just to be safe."

"Oh, is _that_ the only reason, Doctor Milligan?" she'd teased. "'Just to be safe' in case there's an attack of some kind? Not that you…oh, I dunno…desperately want to see me in my knickers?"

"There are your knickers to consider as well, yes." He replied, his dark blue eyes gleaming mischievously.

Martha wanted to say yes. She really did. But her wounds were nowhere near healed yet. Things were getting serious between them, and she didn't know that she was ready for it. And if she went on with Tom the way they were, it wouldn't be fair to him. She might as well be doing the same thing to him as The Doctor had done to her.

Her family was torn on the subject of leaving. Francine wanted to. She didn't want to be anywhere near London to be caught in the middle of another catastrophe, and she didn't want Martha at the hospital.

"If you hadn't been there the day those creatures sucked it up out of the ground and tossed it on top of the moon, you wouldn't have met that dangerous man, and we wouldn't have ended up slaves to some mad alien for twelve months!" she blurted in the middle of a row a week before Christmas Eve.

Clive had been trying to stop her from packing her things, and Martha had stupidly stepped in to calm Francine. She should've known her mother was waiting to explode this whole time. Her pensiveness, her almost suffocating watchfulness over Martha…she should have seen this outburst coming.

Martha gazed sadly at her mother. "Mum, I can't even pretend to know how horrible it was for you with The Master all those months…" she began softly, "but I wouldn't trade meeting The Doctor for anything in the world."

Something in Francine's eyes looked sated, like Martha's words had confirmed a long-standing suspicion of hers. She didn't answer, simply left the room and headed downstairs. Her father gave Martha a firm, reassuring hug.

"She'll come round, hon. Don't worry about us. We'll be fine. You should take that holiday with that nice Milligan chap."

"No, I won't leave you guys by yourselves on Christmas, Dad."

"Ohhh, rubbish!" He chuckled and waved her off. "We'll be alright. Leo and Shonara are bringing Keisha, and your sister's bringing that girlfriend of hers, Laffy? Taffy? Kaffy…?"

Martha chuckled faintly. "It's Kaffy, Dad."

"Right, right. That's what I said!" Clive looked down at his daughter seriously. "Besides, Martha…you _deserve_ a holiday after everything."

"What d'you mean?" She frowned, her chest clenching as the hidden hurt stirred within her.

"You saved our lives, Martha. You were out there; on your own, in God knows how much danger; day after day for a whole, terrible year. You can't be our protector all the time. You deserve a rest."

She relaxed, the hidden hurt slinking back into the shadows again. He kissed her affectionately on the forehead and turned to leave the bedroom. Before he disappeared, he stuck his head back around the bend and shrugged. "If you ask me, there's nothing to be fussed about, is there? Not with your Doctor out there."

She felt the hurt clawing at her again as she struggled to nod and smile.

"If anything happens, he'll come. I reckon he'll have it sorted before your mother can say 'I told you so', eh?"

"S-Sure, Dad. Right. The Doctor would come."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

And something _did_ happen. And The Doctor _did_ come. Just not directly. The incident was over in a matter of minutes. The streets were vacant. The Queen was holed up in the palace. The telly was saying that something enormous and fast was barreling down on them.

Martha still wasn't ready for a holiday alone with him, so she had invited Tom over to her parents' for Christmas supper, and they'd been having a pretty good time of it. They ate; they drank; they watched the Queen's speech, the football match, and the news at the same time. Leo manned the clicker, switching channels every few minutes. After they pulled crackers, Tish's friend Kaffy (whom Clive kept "accidentally" calling 'Taffy') sang a carol for them, rather badly. Instead of laughing, they all joined in on the last couple of versus of the song to help the poor girl out.

When the news came of a giant "space ship" that looked uncannily like the Titanic plummeting towards Buckingham Palace, the last few words of the song died on their lips. They crowded around in the living room, quieting down as Clive snatched the clicker from Leo to turn up the volume. Martha's heart raced and she clutched her mobile, seconds away from ringing The Doctor. Dreading it and desperately wanting to do it at the same time.

But then the giant ship missed the palace just barely, veered upward, and disappeared into the sky again – back where it had come from. Everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief and began talking immediately – all except Martha.

That was _it?_

She stared at the stunned reporter on the telly, clutching her mobile to her chest. "That was him, wasn't it?" Tish demanded loudly. "That was The Doctor! Martha?"

"Who's The Doctor…?" Kaffy asked, confused.

"He's this bloke who travels round rescuing planets in peril. Friend of Martha's." Leo supplied.

"How d'you mean, 'planets'?" Kaffy scrunched up her nose in disbelief.

"Damn right that was The Doctor!" Clive chimed in before Leo could explain, happily pouring drinks for them all. "I told you, Franny, love – if anything happened, The Doctor would sort it out. Didn't I say, Martha?"

"Yeah…you did alright." She muttered, still staring at the screen blankly.

That was…it.

It was absurd for her to be feeling so gutted. There had been no glimpse of him at all, no message of warning or vision of brown pinstripe or tremble of the blue police box. Just a massive starship, a breathless moment in the face of possible disaster, and then he was gone. She shouldn't feel as if he had strolled into her parents' house with his precious Rose on his arm, completely ignored her as he poached himself a turkey drumstick, and strolled out again without so much as a glance her way.

She _shouldn't_. So why did she? Why did she feel so abandoned and forgotten by him?

She noticed her mother staring at her; a hard, worried look in the older woman's eyes. So she forced a big smile, celebrated with her father, kissed Tom and finally put the mobile back into her purse.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Tom drove her home. All he could talk about was the Titanic. She tried to chime in every now and again but eventually she went quiet, unable to muster the energy to pretend anymore. He must've noticed her gloominess, because when he opened the door to let her out of the car, he stopped her before she could get past him.

"You're upset…" he muttered, folding her into his arms, turning his face to whisper in her hair. "What's wrong?"

She closed her eyes and let her body relax against him, inhaling his clean, comforting scent. Tom was a good man; a kind, strong, tender man. Any woman would be lucky to have him. That's what she told herself. She was lucky.

He held her tighter, stroking her back with his strong hands. Before she knew it was happening, she was crying, and she clutched at him, her body feeling as though it would fall to pieces and shatter on the pavement if she let him go. It had been a long, long time since she'd allowed herself to cry.

"Martha, it's alright," Tom whispered soothingly. "I'm here."

"I know." Martha moaned, and she couldn't help thinking: _but __**The Doctor**__ isn't!_

She cried all over his jumper, and when she finally got herself under control and found the strength in her legs again she stood upright shakily. "I'm so sorry," she mumbled, avoiding his gaze. "That was totally uncalled for."

"Don't be silly. Tonight reminded you of that horrible incident and your flat, and your parents, didn't it? It scared you. That's not a crime. You don't have to be so strong all the time."

She looked up at him. Of course he couldn't know why she was really crying. He had no recollection of meeting her and dying for her in the year that never was.

All he knew was that before he had come to work at Royal Hope, the United States President had been murdered on television and some of the staff had told him that Martha's family had been arrested and her flat had been blown up. All he knew was that whenever he asked her about it, she changed the subject, but he didn't really understand why. He didn't _really_ understand that she had seen and done so much more since that fateful day. So much more.

She nodded weakly and forced a smile. "Yeah…it all came rushing back, I guess." She pushed air through her lips, moving to step around him again, wanting desperately to run away from the lies she was telling. "Or maybe I'm just knackered. Been studying all week for my final in January, and I've got rounds tomorrow."

"Would you like me to come up? Sing you to sleep?" His voice was tinted with hopefulness.

She winced and turned around. "Em…not tonight, alright? But we're still on for dinner tomorrow, yeah?"

"Yeah, 'course." He stiffened, and for a second she was afraid she'd made him angry, but he only looked slightly disappointed. Then he smiled and retrieved something from the back seat of the car. It was a present wrapped in dark read paper with a black ribbon tied around it. She gasped – she hadn't gotten him a thing. Before she could apologize, he handed it to her, leaned in to plant a soft kiss on her lips, and whispered: "Happy Christmas Martha. See you tomorrow."

"Happy Christmas…"

He got into his car and pulled away, and she practically ran to her apartment building, feeling the rush of anguish threatening to overwhelm her again.

Climbing the short flight of stairs up, Martha repeated to herself over and over that it was just for tonight. That she would only allow the pain to take over _tonight_ – and then tomorrow she would stuff it away again and everything would be fine. She would make it up to Tom, somehow. How could she have known that she'd react like this? How could she possibly have predicted that seeing a stupid starship narrowly miss crashing into Buckingham Palace would make her go to pieces this way?

She had even imagined the sound of the TARDIS again, after it had taken her weeks to stop listening for it. That bit pissed her off. It was one thing to feel hurt and alone when the man she was still in love with inadvertently made it clear that she was no longer on his radar – but thinking she could hear the TARDIS close by was going a bit too far. She was determined to snap out of it and get on with her life.

"You've been through too much to act like a weakling _now_, Martha," she scolded herself as she unlocked her door.

She dragged herself into her flat, feeling very tired and still angry with herself, but past the tears thank god. She flicked on the light in the tiny studio apartment, and almost died when she saw him. She froze, shock rocketing through her.

He was there. Right in front of her. As real and tall and beautiful as ever. The Doctor. _Her_ Doctor. His slender body snug and fine in his black tux and trainers. He was patiently leaning against the TARDIS with his hands shoved in his pockets, a playful grin on his handsome face. His brown eyes sparkled as he winked at her.

"Martha Jones…" he growled her name softly in greeting, just the way he used to, and she fought not to whimper with delight.

Then his smile changed; his eyes turned beseeching. He didn't have to say another word. And he hadn't even finished standing upright before she was moving again. She dropped everything she carried (including Tom's gift), ran right up to him and jumped into his waiting arms.


	3. Chapter 3

**III.**

Martha got it wrong. She _was_ on his radar. Literally.

The Doctor found himself impatiently anticipating the landing even before the TARDIS got going properly, bouncing slightly with one trainer-clad foot atop the console while he held on with both hands.

As the seconds ticked by, in fact, the cavernous emptiness that had been threatening to envelope him a moment ago was steadfastly being chased away by the sound of the TARDIS engine grinding excitedly. His old girl wanted to see Martha as much as he did.

He had remembered himself again, just. The gloominess was shunted aside in favor of his trademark restless energy and a sense of purpose filled him once he knew he wanted to see her. But he knew that it wouldn't stay gone. It would come back, the emptiness. The silence. It always did.

He also knew this visit was more than a random impulse. If he were honest with himself, he knew that the moment she walked out of the TARDIS, he wanted her to come back. He didn't examine it closely. He didn't dare. Instead he simply let the feeling carry him forward.

The Doctor adjusted the controls and concentrated on steering the TARDIS across a slanted track in space, on the same temporal line. Short trips like this one were ironically always the trickiest. He hoped his maneuvering would lead him to his destination on _this_ night and not months or days later – or land him in the middle of a tube station or something. He was cutting it mighty fine after all, and with what the poor girl had been through tonight, he knew he was risking burning out an engine stabilizer or freezing up the flux manipulator or some similar catastrophe.

The closer he came to landing, the more the feeling of purpose grew, until it was a tightly wound ball of eagerness clutching sharply at the inner walls of his chest. And…hang on a minute…blimey, was he _nervous_?

Odd. He _never_ felt nervous, why should that happen _now_-?

He felt a jolt and clamped down tighter on the console. The journey, though short, was less than smooth. As he suspected, the TARDIS was still a bit shaky from the ordeal of crash landing on Earth after the meteor shower hit the starship. It only lasted about sixty seconds, but she managed to jostle him around a bit anyway, groaning and grinding loudly in protest. But with some sweet talk and a bit of deft maneuvering, he landed her relatively where he intended, perhaps about an hour and forty minutes from when he left Mr. Copper. He just hoped he hadn't squashed any furniture.

The Doctor fixed the break as the engines powered down, quickly giving the console an appreciative pat.

He hurried around to the door, keen (and – he quickly checked – yes, still nervous) to see the pretty, smiling face of Martha Jones. When he stepped out of the TARDIS, he found that he was indeed standing in Martha's bedsitter, but his grin faded when he realized that she wasn't at home.

"Ohhh, shoot."

Right. Of course. It was Christmas. She was probably off somewhere enjoying the company of her family and making sure they were all safe during the threat. Why had he expected her to be sat around, pulling a lonely cracker, waiting for him?

Then he remembered. The Doctor stood frozen for a moment; gazing sightlessly at her dark, empty flat.

…_he never looked at her twice. I mean…he __**liked**__ her. But that was it. And she wasted __**years**__ of her life pining after 'im. Because while he was around, she didn't see anyone else. And I always told her; I said time and time again; I said __**'get out'**__._

Lights distracted him, bouncing off the walls as a car pulled up outside. He turned to the window behind him and looked down.

The driver cut the engine and the lights went out. A tall young man got out of the driver's side and jogged round to let his passenger out. The Doctor squinted down, and then he saw Martha emerge, standing at least a foot shorter than the young man. She looked up at him, the lights from the front of the apartment building cutting across her face softly. He watched some exchange, and then he saw them embrace.

He swallowed, gazing down at them, watching as she held onto the young man, almost as if she would lose her legs if she let go.

Was she crying? Why? The Doctor's mind raced with questions, his hearts clenching with concern. What could be making her _cry?_ On Christmas!

Was it her family (read: mother)? Her friends? Her job? Had he missed some small tragedy in her world while he was thwarting nuclear devastation? He had no idea, and the _not_ knowing tugged at his temper.

He focused on the couple below again. When the young man let her go, Martha wiped her eyes and shook her head, muttering something apologetically and gesturing to his jumper. The bloke leaned closer to her and whispered things – The Doctor could tell by the body language that they were tender words of comfort.

Suddenly he had a very strong desire to take the place of this young man, whispering words of comfort…

Then Martha pulled away from the chap and stepped onto the curb. He said something else; a hopeful expression on what The Doctor could see was a handsome, perfect, wholesome face. That expression told The Doctor that he could end up a third wheel tonight – and before he could help it, he found himself feeling dimly annoyed with that scenario.

Martha gave the handsome bloke an answer, which he was instantly relieved to guess was in the negative. He watched as the guy opened the back seat and pulled something out – a gift. He gave it to her, and her body stiffened. They kissed softly on the lips, and he tore his gaze away, feeling like he was intruding…and…yes, still vaguely bothered.

Speaking of intruding – he looked around her flat again, telling himself that it was just to make sure he hadn't squashed any furniture when he landed. But he found himself examining other things.

Her pitiful little Christmas tree; perched precariously on top of the telly, blinking red lights illuminating the darkness every now and then.

Her underthings; hanging from a flimsy wooden rack. Her laptop; sitting on a small desk near the daybed.

Her slippers; tossed aside near the entryway to the tiny kitchen. Pictures of her and her family; hung on the walls and perched on a shelf.

A normal life. Happy and free of heartache. Free of him. The Martha Jones in these pictures had no knowledge of deadly Plasmavores, living suns, Judoon bounty hunters, the vicious Clades and their war-hungry technology…1913 spent taking care of an amnesiac Time Lord-turned-Human. Twelve months of death and danger walking across the face of a scorched Earth. The things he had put her through…

He should leave. He should turn round and get back in the TARDIS and leave her alone. Guilt pinched at him when he knew he wouldn't.

He couldn't. He needed to find out what had been making her cry. That wouldn't do, Martha crying, would it?

So he waited. Leaned against the TARDIS, hands stuffed in his trouser pockets, mind swimming with questions and little memories of her. He found himself remembering the faces she made when she thought he didn't see. Martha didn't realize that The Doctor knew every inch of her face – every expression and every emotion as they played out on her beautiful features.

When she thought he couldn't see, it was a look of utter devotion, sometimes awe, sometimes longing – but then sometimes righteous anger at their enemies, sometimes extreme sorrow for those they couldn't save, sometimes fierce determination to save those they could…and bravery, and intelligence, and carefree abandon…he _knew_ her face. Knew it well. But she wasn't aware – and he preferred it that way.

Still he couldn't help wishing, selfishly, to see that devotion again in her deep brown eyes one day. His hope was a thing of its own; a living, breathing thing with its own selfish desires that he sometimes felt he couldn't tame.

He heard the keys in the lock and woke up from his thoughts, anticipation making a racket between his thundering hearts.

It was just a visit; that was all. Just a friendly check in, to see that she was safe and getting along. And despite the crying, she _was_, wasn't she? She had a bloke, a nice one from the looks of it. One who wasn't pushy about coming up late at night. One who didn't put her life in danger day after day, toss off a cursory "thank you" and then shoulder her with the responsibility of saving the world all on her own (which she handled brilliantly, by the way).

One who seemed to take care of her; drying her tears when she needed him to, giving her gifts, looking at her and into her; seeing her, valuing her.

The Doctor didn't know if he felt jealous or if he felt disappointed to have failed her in that way – or both. Probably both. It didn't matter. In she came, slowly and quietly, deep in thought. He heard her mutter to herself in a harsh tone. And then she switched on the light.

She stood frozen in place, staring at him as if he wasn't real. Shocked. She looked totally gobsmacked that he had the audacity to show his face again. A stab of insecurity gripped him for a second, but it faded and a kind of delight took its place. Well, he was just plain chuffed to see her. It hadn't even been that long – perhaps a few months for her, but only a few hours for him. Still, the events of those few hours weighed time down, making it seem like forever.

Forever since she told him that she loved him. He suddenly found himself wondering: did she still?

"Martha Jones…" he growled, unable to stop himself from flirting a little. He winked at her, and she twitched like she wanted to make a noise, but she didn't speak. He knew that it was wrong – Selfish! – Barmy! – of him to intrude on her like this in the wake of their last conversation. But he couldn't help himself.

The hope and need writhed, and his flirtatious grin slipped. He found himself starkly afraid that she'd tell him to piss off, and it must've shown in his eyes. But then to his immense relief, she moved, dropping everything in her hands, and suddenly she was upon him – small and human and soft, in his arms.

He embraced her tightly, lifting her off her feet, turning his head to smell her hair. She buried her little face into the collar of his suit jacket and hugged him back, and he felt so bloody relieved that he held her far longer than necessary, squeezing her tight, before setting her down again.

She slid slowly from him, her feet touching down again on the thin carpet, and he re-emerged from her soft, spicy-sweet locks. The Doctor did a cheerful grin, bouncing on his toes. "Hullo! Happy Christmas!"

"Hi…" She whispered, still looking stunned.

"Miss me?" He wiggled his eyebrows at her.

She didn't answer. It was a stupid question, anyway. So he dropped the precious routine, and smiled warmly in earnest.

"'Cause I certainly missed you, Jones." He looked off, pretending to think for a moment. "Weellll…" he remarked, "It's only been about thirteen hours for me, but all the same. How are you?"

Her features relaxed and she shrugged. "I've had better days."

He nodded solemnly, though he still smiled down at her. "Know what? Me, too."

"Fancy a cuppa?"

"Thought you'd never ask."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

A few minutes later, they were standing in her tiny kitchen as she put the kettle on and fetched two cups and some tea bags from one of the cabinets above the cooker.

He watched her at work for a moment, then muttered: "What's wrong?"

At first she didn't respond, and her shoulders stiffened.

"Martha…" he pressed.

She turned around to face him finally. "What?"

The Doctor removed one of his hands from his trouser pocket and reached up to brush his thumb along one of her delicate, still damp eyelashes. He caught a lingering tear. "You were crying…why?"

Martha looked at him for a long while, her chest unmoving as though she were holding her breath. He waited. Finally, she asked very softly: "…why are you here, Doctor?"

He looked away, a bit deflated and a bit more than guilty. "It's Christmas," he chirped, turning around in a circle and coming to lean against the tiny kitchen table. He steeled his lanky legs to support the rest of him and crossed his arms before he could look at her again, having arranged his features to feign exaggerated hurt. "I thought I'd pay you a visit, sing some carols, pull a cracker – I _love_ those! – tuck into some pudding, that sort of thing – what?"

She had tilted her head at him, the look on her face now telling him she wasn't falling for it.

He shook his head. "No pudding? No crackers? No _'Good King Wenceslas'_…?"

Her expression didn't change.

"'_Oh Holy Night'_…?"

Her jaw tightened.

He sighed. "I'll answer your question if you answer mine."

At that, it was Martha's turn to shrug. She looked at him with naked vulnerability and a sad smile played at her lips. "I missed you." She said simply.

There it was. What he had selfishly hoped he would see. Just for tonight. The utter devotion. The love. It was still there. He grinned. "Well that's why I'm here! See how that works?"

"Ah, is _that_ how it works?" She uttered, her smile still in place but her eyes hardening. "Funny, I thought we agreed I'd ring you. But I _didn't_ ring you, did I? So why have you shown up before I'm ready to…?" Her expression belied what she was saying. Martha bit her lip and turned back to turn the fire on under the kettle, refusing to let him see.

His hearts sank as he asked her quietly: "Would you like me to leave?"

She didn't answer right away, pretending to adjust the heat and check that the cups were clean. He waited, knowing full well that if he was decent he _would_ leave her in peace – he could plainly see that he was trampling all over her feelings by forcing himself on her like this. But somehow he couldn't force himself to move. He had to hear her say it. Command it.

She didn't. After what felt like the longest time, she sniffed and then she managed to make her voice sound conversational. "So, the Titanic. Talk about strange, eh?"

The Doctor's chest swelled with affection for her, how strong and selfless she was. She was a marvel. He pressed on, determined not to make a bigger mess of things. "Oh – _that_ – you noticed that, did you?"

"_Everyone_ noticed that, I suspect. The city was practically deserted by tea time, though…"

He scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah, it was a close one, that."

"So what happened? How'd you end up on a starship named after the Titanic of all things? And why was it crashing?"

He didn't really want to talk about that…all those people he couldn't save…Astrid falling…

But he didn't want to discuss something that would make a mockery of Martha's feelings, either. She was a good sport, bless her, for moving along with him as he dodged her perfectly legitimate question. He truly did not deserve her company. But he was extremely grateful to have it. So he talked.

"_I _crashed into _it_, actually. The bow of this bloody great big ship came right through the TARDIS walls – _boosh!_" He made a crashing noise with his mouth and a mini explosion with his hands.

Martha turned around with her jaw dropped. She looked a little more her old self as she shook her head in disbelief, an intrigued smile gracing her pretty face. "It didn't! Oh no! Was there permanent damage?"

"Naahhh, it'll take more than a giant starship to take down the TARDIS! Got any biscuits?" He jumped up and began to rummage through her cabinets.

Martha fixed their tea and The Doctor arranged an assortment of various biscuits, scraping the bottom of a couple of tins she had stacked in her pantry. He was delighted when she produced Christmas crackers. He loved the noise they made as their contents spilled out. They tucked into a pitiful little picnic of biscuits and tea and she prodded him for more of the story. So he told her. It was the least he could do. They put on their paper crown (his red, hers green) and he started talking.

When he reached the part about Astrid, her smile faded but she didn't interrupt him. He left out a lot of details – mostly about how Astrid had affected him, about how her bravery gave him hope, about her kiss. It wouldn't do to force Martha to listen to that. But he left in Astrid's sacrifice to help him save the ship. It wasn't _so_ hard telling that part, as long as he didn't focus too much. He told it as though recounting the names of the seven moons in the Cassavalian Belt. Fact. It was a _fact_ that Astrid Peth gave her life to save his, and the lives of countless millions of people on Earth.

"She sounds…" Martha breathed, shaking her head slowly. "Really brave."

"Yes," he muttered, staring at the plate of biscuits. "She was. Reminded me a bit of someone else I know."

"Rose." Martha's voice was soft; hollow. Of course she assumed he was talking about Rose. He'd made sure of that during their time together, hadn't he? Made sure to compare her to Rose every single chance he could. He was determined to make up for that, somehow.

His eyes rose again to hers and he shook his head slowly. "No. You."

She changed the subject quickly.

"So – that Capricorn bloke was a nasty piece of work, wasn't he?" Martha mused, her eyes narrowing at her chocolate biscuit as she talked about Max Capricorn. "I mean, it's obvious he'd gone completely round the bend. What kind of a man would murder all those people…just to fatten up his retirement?"

"Weelll…technically he wasn't really a _man_. He was a humanoid being from the planet Sto. It's in the Cassavalian Belt. Gorgeous cluster of planets, vermilion sun, seven moons…" corrected The Doctor, rising to fetch himself another cup of tea. She handed over her empty cup and he filled it as well before walking back around to sit again at his end of the table. "And beyond that he was just an evil head in a motorized box."

She offered him her biscuit. He chomped down on it eagerly while it was still in her hand, causing her to giggle, and wiggled his eyebrows at her as he chewed. They gazed at each other benignly for a moment – he chewing happily, glad to see her smiling again; and she simply observing him as if she still couldn't believe he was sitting in her kitchen.

Then he swallowed his food and smacked his lips. "How about a game, Martha Jones?"


	4. Chapter 4

**IV.**

"Hang on, mister…how'd you find me?"

"Ohhh, I just used an old method of the TARDIS' to track companions – acts sort of like a homing device," The Doctor tossed over his shoulder distractedly. "Frequent flyer's privilege. 'Course I never really use it except for emergencies…"

Martha stood in the little doorway between the kitchen and the bedsitter, watching him rummage through her bookshelf. Well, her _everything_ shelf, really. There was only room for one such piece of furniture in her tiny flat, and it currently held everything from board games and pictures to stacks of mail and old CDs – and yes, books.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. There he was: as full of contagious energy as ever. She knew all over again, watching him, that she was terribly in love with him. She may as well have chucked the last few months' progress out the window. If one could even call that progress.

Her hidden hurt was clawing at her, but an immense sense of relief was right there with it. The Doctor hadn't forgotten her. He hadn't said goodbye.

But this thought (while comforting) didn't totally obliterate her doubt.

The fact that he was here, searching for a board game rather than out on some adventure somewhere, told her all she needed to know about this visit. The way he couldn't look at her when she asked why he had come. The way his eyes darkened as he spoke of Astrid Peth and all the lost souls on the _RMS Titanic_. He just couldn't bear it, could he? The Master was gone, the only link to his true home and a life long-since perished. And now The Doctor could barely stand his own company.

She wondered if this constituted as an 'emergency'.

She suddenly felt enormously worried for him, forgetting her own pain for a moment as she watched him slip on his glasses to squint at a Twister box, toss it aside, then move on to a game of Charades. Next was Boggle. He paused. Tossed it aside.

_How many people_, she wondered to herself sadly, _has he lost in his nine hundred and some-odd years?_

Living with something like that could drive any human mad. _She_ was hearing things herself, and she had made a conscious choice to _leave_ The Doctor.

She knew he was lonely. It was simply a part of who he was. She knew that all of his companions, like herself and…Rose…had always been around to help him cope. Perhaps, after Martha left, losing Astrid affected him much deeper than he expected. She knew the Doctor was no stranger to loss – but lately it had been happening one after the other. First…Rose…then Nurse Redfern hating him for killing John Smith, all those people they'd sent to "Utopia" to become the Toclofane, then The Master died, then Martha left. And now Astrid Peth (who Martha was sure meant something more to The Doctor than he let on) was killed. It was a lot to deal with in a relatively short amount of time. Martha wasn't very confident believing that her leaving him was enough to drive him to try to distract himself like this, but perhaps it had contributed.

But, why would he come _here_? Why not distract himself the way he had done for centuries – out _there_, doing what he did best? With…she swallowed hard, feeling as though her heart was in a big knot…with another companion?

She couldn't examine the hypothesis further, because he turned to complain to her, gesturing in agitation. "Haven't you got anything _good_? Like _card games_ – what about card games?"

She cast about quickly and replied: "I dunno, we could play Gin if you like?"

"Gin, _that's_ the spirit Jones!" He clapped his hands excitedly and went on the hunt for cards. "There are over two hundred versions of Gin spread across the galaxies – my favorite happens to be Gin Goola! It's from Dragool, I'll teach it to you; you'll _love_ it!"

Something caught his attention and he dropped everything to pull it out from its hiding place. It was the Harry Potter Cluedo game Leo had given her as a gag gift. The Doctor turned to quirk an eyebrow at her. She blinked. He grinned.

"What? No."

His grin spread and he nodded, holding the box up.

"Doctor, noooo…"

"_Oh, yes!_"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"What?" The Doctor demanded in a high-pitched voice; his familiar cry of indignation at a ridiculous turn of events. He glared, with a confused frown scrunching his face, at the game board. "What?" His eyes darted back up to hers.

She shrugged, restraining a smirk, evidently pleased with herself.

"_What?_" The Doctor demanded a third time.

"I told you, it was obviously Snape, in the library, with the Imperius curse. That's why he chose Crabbe – a bit thick, that one. Easy to control." She laughed triumphantly. "So that's five clicks for me…annnd…!" He watched as she moved her Hermione piece forward five spaces until it reached the end, Dumbledore's office. "Looks like I've won!

"Fixed!" The Doctor accused, pointing a finger at her. "_That_ was 'obviously' a fixed game, is what that was, Martha Jones!" His face was drawn in mock anger, but his big brown eyes sparkled with amusement and delight. She laughed. He tried to hold his accusatory expression, but quickly broke into a wide, lopsided grin. "And spot on. Well done! Hermione Granger, indeed! I'm impressed."

She rolled her eyes as he lowered his hand and sat smiling at her pleasantly. "You knew all along, didn't you?"

He shrugged. "Weellll…" She watched as he tipped his head from side to side. "Pretty much since we started. _But_ it was just as fun watching you work it out. Makes me wish…"

He stopped, staring at her thoughtfully for a moment.

They were both sitting cross-legged on the floor on opposite ends of the table with the plate of biscuits (now almost gone) within arm's reach and the game between them. The Doctor had removed his jacket and paper crown and loosened his tie, but his glasses remained perched on his long, lean face. His hair was all a (perfect) mess from him tugging at it and running his fingers through it as they played the game. He took the clues and twists and turns almost comically seriously. This, from a man who had intimate knowledge of the secrets of time and space! This, from the man who could feel the turn of the Earth beneath his feet…

Martha laughed through most of it, but it felt good, bandying off each other again, even over something as silly as Harry Potter Cluedo. It reminded her of what a great team they made – The Doctor giving Martha the opportunity to work things out using her own wit, and then stepping in to help her connect the dots when she needed him to. Or she would say something at precisely the right moment, triggering some hidden bit of information stowed away in that vast, crowded mind of his. She was particularly proud of that – especially after what he'd told her about Rose the night they met Shakespeare.

He must've had the same sense of nostalgia, judging by the way he was looking at her now.

The Doctor closed his mouth, took a breath, opened it again. His smile softened, along with his eyes, and he continued earnestly: "Well, it just makes me wish…for a bit of traveling with you again. That's all."

Martha experienced a myriad of emotions just then, and it had her heart going like mad. If she was honest with herself, she knew there was nothing in the world that would make her happier than to be at The Doctor's side again in the TARDIS, zipping to anywhere and anywhen. Nothing in the world…except one thing. She took a deep breath. "Doctor…I told you. I-I just can't-"

"Quite right, too." He muttered quickly, and this time it was he who looked away.

"It's just that…I'm still…" she tried again.

"Of course. Right." He nodded several times, reaching out to fiddle with her little Hermione game piece. Took in a pinched breath, like something was stinging him. There was some awkward silence as the energy in the room shifted. Their fun little game was over now, and The Doctor's mood had sobered.

Martha was a bit nettled. It was just like the last time she was in the TARDIS, and she had poured her heart and soul out to him – and all he did was avoid her eyes and say things like "right" and "of course" and "ah". Like he understood but couldn't sympathize. After all those adventures they had – all those times when he would put himself in harms way to protect her, and visa versa. All he ever did was move past it like it was _so_ awkward for him to deal with the fact that she was arse-over-tits in love with him.

How did he think _she_ felt, sitting here entertaining him so that the loneliness wouldn't crush him on Christmas night, a night when she was feeling the most miserable she had felt over this whole unrequited love thing in weeks? It was a funny old life – she would've given anything to see him again in all these months, and now he was here and it was practically killing her to have him smile and wink and flirt with her in that perfectly oblivious way he always had. All because she just couldn't bear to see The Doctor in pain, whether physical or emotional.

She found herself glaring at his fingers as they played around with the Hermione piece. "So, who's your bloke?"

Her eyes darted up at him sharply. "Sorry?"

The Doctor was still staring at the little cardboard Hermione, his jaw set and his eyebrows arched into a thoughtful frown. He shrugged, twirling the thing like a tiny spinning top before stopping it with his index finger, taking his time before answering. She stared at him impatiently as he leaned to rest the arm that was holding the game piece on the table. He folded the piece into that hand and used the hand to rest his chin on, the piece disappearing under his fingers. His smile returned, only just. It was very small, somewhat curious.

"The bloke who dropped you home tonight," he said casually, shrugging again. '"The one who gave you that."

He gestured with his forehead to the still untouched gift sitting by the door exactly where she'd left it an hour ago. Martha didn't look to see – she knew what he was talking about.

"You were watching me?"

"Oh, I just arrived a bit early, saw you and him outside."

His gaze penetrated her deeply. Martha hated it when he looked at her like that. Or rather she hated what such a look _did_ to her. Beyond making her cheeks warm and her heart flutter, it was a look that commanded the truth. It wasn't malicious or cold – just expectant. Powerfully expectant.

He drew her attraction to him out of her sometimes with this look, totally unintentionally of course, and she could never resist telling him the plain truth when he used it on her. With intelligence and wisdom beyond human reckoning, he often willingly used this look to question people when he was investigating something, too. They usually told him what he wanted to know. Damn those Time Lord eyes of his.

"Seemed like a nice chap. What's his name?"

"Tom Milligan," Martha answered through clenched teeth, her mouth barely moving.

The Doctor raised his eyebrows even higher, his smile spreading slightly. She felt anger churn as she realized he was teasing her. "That's a handsome name! Is he handsome? He looked well fit from the window…not that I go for blokes, but there's no telling _what gender_ I'll end up years down the line. Might come back as a girl one of these days – not that I've seen it happen but I suppose it's not impossible…"

She glared at him as he went through one of his trademark rants, using the game piece to scratch his neck.

"So what's he do?" He asked in a singsong tone, popping his tongue.

"He's a pediatrician."

"Ah! Another doctor, like you!" He grinned. "Brilliant!"

"You know what?" Martha snapped, crossing her arms, smiling bitterly at him. "He _is_. As brilliant as they come. And kind, and attentive, and funny! Makes me laugh all the time, so hard my stomach aches."

"Good man," The Doctor murmured, despite her tone.

"And he's a proper gentleman. He rings me up at night sometimes, just to make sure I'm safe." Martha countered defiantly.

"Oh yes, proper of him."

"You see I met him last year – well, the year that doesn't exist anymore. He helped me, risking his life for me, and in the end he died for me. The Master got him right before they brought me back to the Valiant."

He stared at her, this news sinking in, she could see. She pressed on.

"So imagine how I felt when he popped up, alive and well, at Royal Hope! And he's with _Doctors Without Boarders_ as well, did I mention? Yeah – he's going to Africa soon, to help with a malaria outbreak at an orphanage in The Congo. He loves children, Doctor, always has. Can't stand to see any harm come to them. I know it's a bit ironic, isn't it? Me ending up with a doctor who travels the world. But, d'you know I could really see myself settling down with 'im? He'd make a wonderful father."

A pinched, slightly breathless look had come over The Doctor's posture, as if he had heartburn. He wasn't teasing anymore. His eyebrows were still raised, but his mouth was tense as he gazed at her seriously. "Would he?"

Martha held his gaze defiantly, her arms still crossed. "Yes," she replied simply. "I think he would. And d'you know what else I think?"

"What else?" His eyes were soft, filled with a sort of resigned sadness. No fight. It angered her all the more.

"I think I deserve him. He's good…he _sees_ me." Then she realized something, and it deflated her righteous anger at The Doctor. "I should've taken that mini break with him…"

"Mini break?"

She had looked down at the board game, thinking about Tom, but when The Doctor spoke she focused on him again.

"He asked me to go to Brighton for Christmas. I should've said yes."

She watched the realization of what she meant change The Doctor's expression. Instantly, she wanted to take it back, but she didn't.

He looked hurt, and his eyes left hers yet again. He sighed. "Well, I suppose I deserved that."

She closed her eyes briefly and sighed. "Why do you do that?"

They both knew she was referring to his tendency to make light of, dismiss, or tease her about her feelings for him. That was one thing she never understood. It always hurt, and surely he knew that? What was he, trying to thicken her skin or something so when he gave her the ultimate rejection, she'd be prepared?

"I shouldn't have, I'm sorry Martha," he said dropping the game piece back onto the table. "I suppose I was…well, I suppose I was a bit…" he avoided her gaze, the clenching in his chest seeming to intensify. He was uncomfortable with whatever it was he was about to say, she could tell. He swallowed. "Jealous."

"Sorry?"

He repeated himself, his voice very low and very serious. "I was jealous. So I teased you just now out of anger. It was wrong. And I'm sorry."

Her heart skipped a beat. "Jealous? Of what, exactly?"

It took him a long time to answer. Then he sighed deeply, scratching his earlobe.

"Of you. And him." He looked deadly serious for a second, and then launched into one of his speeches, not stopping for breath, avoiding her eyes again. "All you humans. Sometimes I don't think any of you realize just _how_ good you have it. Love. Normalcy. Family. Children. Books, museums, soaps on the telly. Schools and hospitals and Christmas crackers and chips, and Cleudo. People walking about tending to mundane, every day things. A planet, a home…a life. They're gifts, you know, ones humans tend to take for granted. Oh, but not _you_, Martha Jones."

He smiled brightly; proudly, even.

"You're brilliant in that way – here I am, thinking you'd hang round waiting for me." He shook his head breezily. "But I should've known not to worry about _you_. You're stronger and more capable than anyone I know! You've got your Tom. And you deserve a normal life. Blimey I wish I could do as well, but look at me!"

Her heart sank. "I don't believe you." She whispered. Then, unable to muster what she _really_ wanted to say just yet, she continued: "There's nothing about normal life that would work for you. I may not have been privy to a lot of things about you, Doctor, but I _do_ know that. You'd rather be off traveling, in your TARDIS, with no ties holding you back. You _love_ that life. You'd never give it up. You couldn't."

As she said these words, the hidden hurt went to work on her, and by the time she finished she felt as though she was losing him all over again. Because she realized they were true. She could never expect The Doctor to settle for her.

It further hurt her to know that if he tried to, she wouldn't let him. Which brought her back to her theory about this visit.

"You think?" He said gravely.

"Yes. I _know_. In fact…" she looked around, at the biscuit plate, at the board game, at the empty tea cups. "What are you even doing here?"

"What d'you mean, I came to see you!"

"You didn't come here just for me." She gave him a watery smile. "You've no idea how much I wish that were true, but it's just not. You're running – hiding."

"Martha, that is rubbish," he muttered crossly.

"Rubbish, is it?" She straightened her back, looking at him sternly. "Tea and biscuits and a game of Cluedo, this is your idea of fun, Doctor?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, it is."

"Look," she took a deep breath.

This next part would be hard. But she had to.

"Doctor…I love you to bits. You know that." He swallowed and looked down. "And you also know that I would…god I would do just about _anything_ to spare you pain. But what you're doing isn't fair to me."

Then she repeated something she had told him once upon a time ago.

"You never talk, Doctor. You never _say_. After all we've been through, it just isn't fair of you to shut me out now. Especially after I…" she paused again, letting the rest of the statement hang in the air before continuing.

"I will happily sit here and play 'Gin Goola from Dragool' with you all night, but if you don't tell me the _truth_…" She stared at him wide-eyed as she delivered her ultimatum. "Then you have to get out. And don't come back."


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

The Doctor looked up at Martha, his eyes growing as wide as saucers to mimic hers. "What?"

"You heard what I said," she almost whispered, but her tone was firm. "Trust me with the truth or never mind being my friend."

"Blimey," he ran a hand through his hair and pushed air through his lips. "What is it with you and giving ultimatums in your flat?"

Martha shrugged. "It's _my_ flat, I can give ultimatums if I want to."

Martha Jones. Sometimes she gave as well as she got.

It dawned on him how blind and selfish he was while she traveled with him. How he let his own resentment of _his_ feelings get in the way of protecting _her_ feelings. How he kept taking the mickey, even with her heart on the line.

_It's like when you fancy someone, but they don't even notice you're there_, he had said not too long ago. And other things. _Rose…her name was Rose – __**not**__ that you're replacing her!_

All that time, she hid how much he hurt her. She kept a brave face, even when she had every right to rake him over the coals. Until now, apparently. In her little flat. On Christmas. And she was quite right, too. The fact that she had so much insight into him; his emotional tactics, his denial – why did that affect him so?

He sighed. "And if I tell _you_ the truth, will you tell _me_ the truth?"

She blinked. "What truth?"

The Doctor gestured again to the gift still lying by the door. "Why haven't you opened that?"

"It's private." He studied her face. She was trying to hold _something_ in, something she wanted to say (or shout, judging by the fire in her eyes).

He held her gaze. "That's not the impression I got a moment ago. With all your talk about babies and trips to Brighton for Christmas."

She glared. "Doctor…you're doing it again. And it's not funny."

He returned her glare, unwilling to back down just yet.

"Answer the question…" he demanded softly.

He was very well aware that he was a hair's breath away from losing her friendship forever. But he didn't like being pressured to blab things. Things he wasn't ready to share. Call it a defensive instinct. He could be a total prat sometimes, as he well knew. It was partially to put what he'd said earlier out of her mind. Partially to convince himself that he didn't mean it. Though he did, and it was daft. A daft_, daft_ thing to do, admitting that seeing her with Tom Milligan made him jealous. And babbling about how good she had it and how proud he was of her, just to cover his arse.

He wasn't proud. He was _jealous_, a thick, irrational emotion. But still – it was there. And he resented it. Resented her speech about how bloody wonderful Milligan was. Resented how Martha was steadfastly trying to prove to him that she'd moved on. For as much as he might wish…but he had never allowed himself to really feel such longing – until now. In her little flat on Christmas. Where there were no worlds to save, no villains to do away with, no disaster or devastation to thwart. Just him defenseless and her unwilling to go along with his charade anymore.

Martha sighed, all the anger seeming to deflate from her. "I haven't opened it because it's _private_, Doctor. Because…because I don't think you're capable of…letting me be happy with someone else. Even though you've no interest in returning my feelings, you would love for me to be sat around waiting for you, ready and willing to indulge you whenever you decide to grace me with your presence." Her tone then was of both bitter sorrow and brave acceptance. She looked as if she was just realizing this analysis as she uttered it.

And she was _so_ right yet _so_ wrong. And he _did_ feel like the world's biggest prat, and his anger deflated too.

"Martha," he spoke quietly, lowering his gaze to his hand, "you're wrong."

She scoffed. "About which part, exactly? Because I think whether you want to face up to it or not, you know I'm right."

"Right about your privacy; right about me not wanting to see you with…him," he nodded with each statement. Then he swallowed thickly before continuing in an intense whisper, shaking his head slowly. "But wrong about me not wanting you to be happy. About me having no…interest."

He let the last word hang on the air, and put just a bit of emphasis on it, as he gazed into her eyes. He waited until it registered on her face, the realization of what he meant.

"Oh." She blinked, taken aback.

"And to answer your ultimatum," he sat upright and frowned at her a bit like a scolding teacher. "I came here to see _you_. Just you. There'll always be planets and monsters and wonderful phenomenon, galaxies away, and all of space and time waiting. But there's only one Martha Jones." He watched her react to his words, and he himself found that they were genuine, and he felt them chase away the emptiness – if only for a moment. "And I quite enjoy spending time with her."

"Oh." She said again.

"Now…"

He regarded her solemnly for a moment, still frowning behind his glasses. The Doctor felt tired again, but not with the weight of all he was and all he had seen and done and lost. He was only tired of trying to spare her – or deny her, depending on which point of view one was given. Then he sighed softly, and smiled.

Maybe…just for tonight?

"What else do you want to know?"

He watched this dawn on her as well, and she stared at him hesitantly for a second. "Really?" she whispered.

"Really, yeah."

Martha moved abruptly, unfolding her legs and crawling over to him across the thin carpet. He watched her come, never breaking eye contact. When she reached him he automatically slid back to lean against her daybed, budging over so that she could easily slide next to him, and he wrapped an arm around her once she was settled.

He took off his glasses and tucked them into his shirt pocket.

Her body, much smaller than his, and more pliant, curved into him and fit there like an extension of himself. It felt like the most natural thing in the world – and he realized that's because it _was_ the most natural thing in the world. It always had been, but he'd spent so much time resisting it that it surprised him now. She leaned her head against his shoulder and arched her face up to his, her eyes patient and innocent. Not like a child's, though.

That was a quality Rose had – he remembered really enjoying how her eyes would sparkle with raw wonder when she took in the things they saw, beings they met, history and future, the vast, complicated intricacies of the Vortex.

Martha's eyes held just as much wonder, but she processed everything with an acute sense of…well…responsibility. She was more than just an eager pupil – not that he ever, _ever_ looked down on Rose for that reason. It was the way he loved Rose, naïve and curious and swept up in all the romantic possibility of their adventures. Escaping her drab estate, her boring shop post. He had been happy, and grateful, to be able to take her away from that, and show her things. And in return, she changed him, made him better. But she was still growing up, Rose was. She was only 19 when he met her…so young. A child compared to him, really. Perhaps it was the vitality of her youthful, righteous compassion, that he loved so? Did it matter? She was gone, now. Like so many others.

Martha was a force to be reckoned with in her own right. Even when she needed rescuing. The Doctor always knew that she could do anything she put her clever mind to. He knew that she loved him – but she didn't _need_ him. He didn't think she realized that yet. In time, she would. And that was how he loved Martha.

When she said that she should've gone to Brighton, it hurt him because he could see that his presence was only stalling the inevitable. She would get over him yet. "Doctor?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me."

He frowned down at her. "Tell you?"

She smiled for the first time since she won the Cluedo game. "You went off somewhere, didn't you? Didn't even hear what I said."

"Ah – sorry, where were we?"

"You asked what else I wanted to know."

"I did, yes."

"And I want to know about your childhood. Something…surprising."

He grinned. Gave her an affectionate squeeze (she snuggled closer), and brought his other arm around to close her in.

Just for tonight.

"Well, Martha Jones…" he took a deep breath. "For that kind of information, I'm afraid we'll have to negotiate payment.

"Ha!" Martha nudged him with her elbow. "What kind of payment we talking about, exactly?"

"Well, information, of course. A story for a story. I'll tell you bits, and you return the favor, eh?"

She considered him. He laughed when she made a funny face, scrunching her right eye and wiggling her nose at him. "I suppose it's only fair."

"Sorted, then. Now where to begin…" He thought for a moment, then decided on something not too painful. "Would it surprise you to know that I wasn't always the best student?"

"You're joshin' me!" She said sarcastically.

"Cheeky." And he gave her a nice, sturdy frown to demonstrate that he was, in fact, serious. Martha settled in even more, readying herself for a good story. "Well, I was a wild one. Lessons bored me stiff, I wanted to be off looking under rocks and such. I was perpetually distracted, so of course I was always searching for a way to challenge my mentors…"

"That sounds like you, all right."

"Alright, so I was a militant youth." He shrugged and sniffed. "Blame my parents. Anyway, my first scores in quantum flux manipulation were dreadful – to this day I'm not sure it wasn't because my instructor hated me. I was a cheeky little devil. Mouthed off a lot, I did. Did some things that were bang out of order. I remember this one time I decided it would be quite a laugh if I switched his sonic pen for a laser one."

She gasped. "Doctor, you didn't!"

"Ohhh, he was fine! I mean-" he paused, swallowing guiltily, and finished in a rush of jumbled words: "-he _did_ singe a few nose hairs, but honestly, how was _I_ to know he liked to use it to dig out bogies when no one was looking?"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

They played the game of questions and answers. He told her about his rebellious days as a runt in the Academy. She told him about a school bully who lifted her skirt up so everyone on the playground could see her knickers. She asked him about his parents. He asked her about her first kiss.

"Urgh, Ricky Minor. Thick bloke from around the corner. His breath smelled like olives."

She asked him about his very first (stolen) trip in the TARDIS. He in turn learned about the first time she cracked open a critical patient's chest to shock his heart. Despite her efforts, he died.

"Horrible. I was fascinated by the whole experience, but afterwards I locked myself in the toilet and cried for an hour."

"I'm sorry." He rested his chin atop her soft hair.

They went on, and it seemed the more questions they asked, the less innocuous those questions became. The Doctor did his part dutifully, telling her the truth, but he tried to steer the conversation as best he could. Still, he could see where it was headed, and after debating with himself whether or not he wanted it to end up there, he decided that it may as well. Just for tonight.

She whispered: "Your first love?"

The Doctor didn't answer for a while. He felt her shift under him, perhaps regretting the question. He still didn't speak for a while after that. And then he replied: "The mother of my…children. We were both…very young."

He saw a glimpse of memory, and shut it away again before it could bloom fully. Martha was silent. Processing this information, probably. "They…died in the war?"

He could probably tell her everything, the details; answering the many questions he knew were running through her mind just then. But he didn't. Instead he _tsked_ at her.

"Oi, _I _get a question next. Rules are rules." Martha waited, not surprised that he had dodged her question. Then he asked: "Are you in love with Tom Milligan?"

It was her turn to give pause. Finally, with a deep, sort of resigned breath: "No."

The Doctor didn't know how to feel about that. Hang on, scratch that. He _knew_ how he felt – he just didn't know if he _should_ feel that way. If he had a _right_ to after all he'd sent her through. He relaxed his body, a silent grant of permission to ask what he knew she would next.

"Why…why didn't you fight for me, Doctor?"

He hadn't expected that. He blinked, then relaxed again. "I think you know why, Martha."

"You still love Rose."

"Yes." He had promised her the truth. And he felt her tremble. He wondered if she was crying, but thought not to check. "But there's more to it than you think. So ask me something else."

"Like what?" her voice was thick and shaky. She _was_ either crying or holding back tears.

"Ask me if I've accepted that Rose and I will never be together. Even if I ever saw her again – which I won't – ask me if that love will ever get it's due."

"I can't…" she exhaled, and he felt warm dampness spreading across the left side of his shirt where her face was cradled.

"Go on," he squeezed her gently again.

"Doctor, please."

"Alright, then I'll ask _you_ something." And he reached up to shift her hair from her face, where she had attempted to hide how upset she was, like she was ashamed of herself. He looked down into her deep brown eyes, glistening with tears. "Will you forgive me?"

She squeezed her eyes shut, her delicate fingers digging into his chest. "There's nothing to forgive. You love her, I've always known that," she took another deep breath, her tears catching up to her. "I always knew what I feel is one-sided, I'm not daft."

"I told you – you're wrong about that, Martha."

Her eyes popped open and she stared at him.

"You're calling me daft, now?" A joke. A pitiful one. She was stalling him. And quite right, too. In that, it seemed they were on the same page. After so long of his rejection, half-truths and insensitivity, maybe finally hearing him admit…well, she looked as afraid as he was. "Talk about salt on a big, blistering wound!"

But she didn't move from his arms and he smiled, shaking his head at their coinciding insecurity. "No, Martha, I don't think you're daft. Far from it, in fact."

"Well, what are you on about?" Her eyes belied her question. She knew. Her breath caught in her chest.

"I _mean_ that…" he paused, looking off into space for a moment. _Just for tonight_, he thought, "…let's just say I find myself wishing _very_ much for it to be me instead of Tom Milligan."

She sat unmoving for a minute. "For it to be you, what?"

He allowed himself permission to let her feel what he meant in the way he held her. His hands became stroking, slowly and deliberately, drawing tiny circles in her skin and the fabric of her shirt. Pools of heat gathered where his fingers touched, and he felt her fighting not to moan into his chest. He leaned into her, inhaling the scent of her hair. "This…" he answered, so quietly that if it were anything more than silent in the room she wouldn't have heard him.

"And…" she sighed ever-so-softly, her voice a bit breathless, "you want me to forgive you…for _that_?"

"No." The Doctor inhaled deeply and blew out his breath over her head. "I've behaved deplorably, Martha. That's why I need you to forgive me. When I lost Rose, I was angry. Centuries, I've been on me own – well, visitors here and there, but you know that – and then the one person I felt I could _really_…" he trailed off.

"What?" she prompted, wiping her face.

"Doesn't matter. I'll never see her again. She was ripped from my grasp, literally. Nearly sucked into the Void. And now there's an entire universe separating us. One I can never cross into."

"I'm so sorry." He knew she meant it. He held her closer.

"Oh, I was _angry_ Martha. I've _been_ – very angry. And I tore off, ripping into all sorts of sticky situations. Didn't give a toss where I ended up."

His voice lowered and he remembered the screaming Racnoss empress, and his desire to perish under the crushing waters of the Thames.

But he recovered quickly and beamed down at her. "And then I met you! And you were brilliant!"

"You don't have to praise me."

He sighed. "Will you let me finish?"

She remained quiet.

"Cor, you're a tough nut." He thought he felt her smile against him. "Where was I?"

"You were angry," she supplied quietly. "Then you met me."

"Right. Then I met you. And I wasn't _looking_ for it, honestly, it was just gonna be one trip to say thank you for saving my life – then back to being a miserable old boot."

She chuckled.

"But, Martha you have _no idea_ how brilliant you are. I could see it from a mile away. So, naturally I resisted it. Resisted the possibility of…well, of…me and you. As I said, I've behaved deplorably. But you left me no choice! How could you possibly understand? How could I _make_ you understand?

"Every time I witnessed your clever mind at work, every time you showed me how brave and selfless and incredibly strong and compassionate you are – every time I nearly lost you…oh, I could see it from a mile away. And it was wrong. I didn't want it. You have to forgive me. I thought it was better to…" he swallowed.

It was becoming difficult, now. All she asked for was the truth, but the truth wasn't a straight line. Much like time and space, it was a big ball of interlacing bits.

His eyes narrowed at her shoe. "I thought it was better to hurt you in order to spare you. To make you believe…that I don't want you…and then let you go and let you be happy."

But he _did_ want her. Holding her now, he couldn't help accepting the truth. And he didn't want to let her go.

"As opposed to what?" She demanded, her voice level rising. Oh, here it came. The moment he was dreading. But he supposed it was better to have it over with. And he supposed it was inevitable. "Tell me. The truth, Doctor, remember? We made a deal."

"As opposed to allowing myself to be…in love again. As opposed to giving into my feelings for you knowing that one day you'd move on, back to live out the life I took you from. Or worse – that you'd have to choose between life and death because of _me_. Because of some daft situation I'd gotten us into. Or taken away from me and banished to an existence you didn't ask for, like…" he swallowed thickly. "Like Rose."

The Doctor's voice was thick with emotion, now. He couldn't avoid it.

"That is my life, Martha. Being alone for so long has made me selfish. That isn't fair. I realized that when someone else I loved once reminded me that I had left her behind…and the hurt in her eyes…I'll never forget that. She didn't deserve it and neither do you. You deserve someone…someone who can spend the rest of his life with you. I can't. I'll never be able to. I'll continue. As I always have."

Martha scoffed, a reaction he hadn't expected.

"Who are _you_ to decide what I need? What makes me happy? Last of the Time Lords indeed, and it's gone straight to your head!" She was definitely angry now. He loosened his grip on her, sensing that she would chuck him out soon. "Look at me, will you?"

He did as she asked.

Martha made sure he held her gaze. "You may think you're protecting me from some great, horrible realization, but you're dead wrong. I may be in love with you, but I'm not afraid to tell you when you're being a twit!"

"Harsh…!" he complained, his jaw dropping.

"Nothing you don't deserve! The nerve…"

"I'm not a part of your world, Martha. I'm not meant to stay, or to fit, and I can't ever stop. Not even for a moment."

"You've done fine enough tonight. You came here to stop; you came here to get away. Just for the 'moment'. No one can avoid facing painful memories forever. Lord knows we've all tried, but it always catches up, even with you. And that's all right. It's all right to want someone – to _need_ someone.

So don't you dare say you came here to tell me you're saving me from something that my poor, puny human brain can't comprehend."

He raised his eyebrows at her. She was brilliant; like he always said; a marvel. Centuries of experience told him she was right. The heavy, sinking emptiness was a persistent beast. The death and tragedy was perpetually ready and able and unstoppable. Oh he had fun – but always with consequences. And _always_…he felt the loneliness.

He was constantly reminded of his role, his responsibility. Martha was being selfless, as usual. And her selflessness was a quality that he adored – but at the same time it scared him to death.

Rose and many, many others before her had already been sacrificed. He couldn't do it to Martha too.

"Martha, you're not listening to me!" he snapped.

"I _am_ listening!" she yelled right back. "Doctor…" and her eyes became liquid pools of emotion that poured right into him. She continued in a breathless whisper, keen to impress upon him the absolute conviction that he could see in those deep, beautiful eyes of hers.

"…I'm not Rose. I'm sorry, but I'm not. You can't assign me her fate. Nor anyone else's. You can't make me stop loving you because you're afraid. Nothing you can say will make me not want to follow you to a hundred planets, a thousand time periods – even face my own death. And do you know why? Because I trust you. I always have. I always will."

Okay, now it was _his_ turn to be speechless. He sat staring into her eyes, the emotion of her words gripping him.

"I walked away from you because it was _killing_ me to stand in her shadow, like a ghost. Like you couldn't see me or _refused_ to, no matter what I did. And I think I understand Rose. I never knew her – sometimes I thought I hated her – but now I finally understand her."

She squinted at him sadly.

"That's what you meant, isn't it? If Rose hadn't been taken from you, you would have told her the same thing you're telling me." He met her gaze meaningfully and she shook her head, mystified. "Do you think for one moment that if she loved you like I do that she would ever let you decide that for her?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but words failed him. He stared at her. She was right. Rose had not let him decide. And she paid dearly for it.

"Exactly." She sniffed, adjusting his collar, fixing his tie. "So. I love you, that's all there is to it. You'll just have to deal with it, mister."

"Martha…"

"No, no 'buts'." She smiled sadly, and snuggled against him again. "Now, tell me about your first time on Earth."

A tiny part of him wanted to rebuke her – tell her she was dead wrong. Tell her the same things he'd told Rose when she refused to listen to what was good for her. But a much bigger part shoved that one aside and told him to piss off – if only for tonight.

He grinned, examining every inch of her face. "Well…I was exiled here, you know."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

He talked, and she listened. The TARDIS sat quiet and idle; the clock ground out the time; hours passed and she was asleep.

The Doctor listened to Martha's breathing, slow and soft, and held her.

He thought carefully about everything she'd said to him tonight. He thought back to the moment he realized she was trouble – probably the first time he left her, when he found himself wanting nothing more than to tell her to pack a bag and come with him for as long as she pleased. But instead he said cheers and goodbye. How delighted he was that Doctor Lazarus said something so peculiar and alarming, calling him back.

But time was winding away, and he glanced at the TARDIS again, illuminated now and again by the red lights on Martha's pitiful little Christmas tree. He felt the turn of the seconds, minutes, hours, years and so much more, as he always had. Time and space moved within him, a constant kinetic force that beat in tandem with his twin hearts.

The TARDIS was calling him to her; not pressuring him, but indeed gently reminding him. He could not stay tucked against Martha's warm, supple body forever. That angered him. Because he realized that if he could take it all back, he might not have chosen to be noble.

Just as he had done tonight, he might have given in to his selfish desire to keep her and have her…and love her. Love her with all of his being, his responsibility be damned. The TARDIS again prodded him gently, and he cursed under his breath.

"Martha…?" She didn't stir. Gingerly, The Doctor shifted under her so he could look down at her face properly. "Maaaarthaaaa…" he sang softly.

"Hmmm…?" she sighed, curling her arms around him. He glanced at the clock on her DVD player. Two in the morning. She'd be in a right foul state when she had to get up for work. And she _would_ get up for work, and she would see Tom Milligan again, and that made The Doctor feel suddenly very sad. He couldn't see a way around it. He decided not to think about it until he was away.

"Bedtime, Doctor Jones," he cooed, touching her face. Her skin was so soft, smooth and warm. Touching her made something burn deep within him. He stared at her peaceful, beautiful face for a while, letting his imagination run. All those times he wanted to be close, to touch, to taste, to feel…

He had to get away.

"Bedtime, love." He repeated firmly, more to himself this time.

She didn't open her eyes, but she did tighten her hold on him. He figured he wouldn't get far like this, so he opted to pick her up and put her in bed. He slid his arm under her legs, bracing himself, and scooped her up. He couldn't help snuggling his nose into her hair, running it over her earlobe and just under her jaw line, smelling her spicy-sweet scent, savoring his last breath of Martha Jones.

When he got her into the bed, she didn't let go, and suddenly she pleaded: "Don't go…"

His hearts raced, and the burning within him intensified. Desire was brimming inside of him, and he gazed into her face, frozen where he was knelt over her. Every inch of him was beginning to disobey what his mind told him was wrong. Wrong because he knew what she would wake up to; wrong because it was the last thing he could take from her before he really was officially the world's biggest prat.

But he didn't move. At least, not at first. Then he slowly leaned closer. "You're going to leave me, aren't you?" Martha whispered, sensing his indecision.

"I…I can't stay, Martha. I think you know that."

Her eyes fluttered open, and she looked up at him from under heavy lids, her mouth parting slightly. The sight sent a pulse of heat flooding right through him to his groin. "Don't go. Not yet."

He hesitated, staring at her lips.

"Please," she whispered.

When he looked into her eyes again, his resolve broke, and he tightened his arms around her, bringing her close.

* * *

**Thanks everyone so much for the reviews so far! Glad you're enjoying it. I am working on "Hello Again" but that one is giving me a teen****s****y bit of trouble. It's a bit hard to write for Eleven, I'm discovering. But I'm giving it my best. Update to that fic coming soon, promise. In the meantime, hope this fic is up to scratch.**

**-Kendra**


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